Trinity Of Obscenity
by Seifer Almasy 911
Summary: The underworld is a constantly shifting place of darkness, sex, violence, drugs and all sorts of depraved acts and thoughts. Where the good come to die and the bad get worse. In the wake of recent events three gangs in particular seize the opportunity to unite in their efforts to achieve domination.
1. Opening Volley

Things had changed greatly in Liberty City and Alderney over the course of a relatively short time. There had been whole sale death and destruction the likes of which they had never seen. Gang wars raged and the bodies stank. Everything had gone up in flames both in the underworld and the rest of the supposedly legitimate world. Possibly most damaging in the entire series of chaotic events was the constant shifts in power. Mikhail Faustin had been killed and then Ray Bulgarin and Dmitri Rascalov leaving at least one faction in the Russian Mafia nearly crippled and leaderless. Elizabeta Torres had been arrested and wasn't going to be seeing the light of day any time soon leaving her insanely lucrative cocaine empire up for grabs. The various Mafia factions had all been put through their paces and had come out much worse for wear particularly the Pegorinos who were nearly disintegrated. The Lost Motorcycle Club had lost its Alderney chapter.

In short there were many devastated or otherwise wounded gangs and gangsters and all sorts of people looking to fill the space, bridge the gap left behind, or otherwise muscle their way into someone else's position. That was something the Yuschenko bratva didn't plan on letting happen. They had stepped in during all the chaos that was being brought about by Faustin's death and Dmitri's reign of terror. They had since become a massive powerhouse in not only Broker but all over the city, or at least they started to expand out into the other areas quickly enough.

Rising along with the Yuschenko bratva were various other gangs including various Triad factions who had manged to avoid most of the carnage during the last major bout of violence. They had easily taken over several businesses particularly heroin traficking and sale which they had already dominated to begin with, now they almost completely controlled it. The two giants had come to an uneasy peace with hardly if any violence ever occurring between them. The Russians retained control of Broker which they still dominated, though there were some inter-faction struggles going on every so often, while the Triads experienced the same growing pains while keeping control over southern Algonquin. The arrangement made it hard if not impossible for others the two powerhouses didn't approve of to operate or at least be based in their own territory something which angered both the new gangs, those on the rise or those struggling to keep whatever power they already had or expand.

That was the situation the various factions of the underworld found themselves in. Oleg Leonov didn't exactly like it himself but he dealt with it. He followed orders. That was the way things were. The way they had to be. There was order and discipline. There were rules. Just like in the prisons in Russia. He had seen much suffering and misery at the hands of his government whether he deserved it or not, he didn't care, that was far behind him. Now Oleg was in America and was showing the weak westerners what it meant to be a true gangster. A true thief in law.

Oleg had made a name for himself first in Russia and had slowly made his way throughout the world. Trips here and there, business and pleasure, even settling down a few times outside of Russia only to go back after some relatively short amount of time or another. Now however as he walked down the ever busy streets of Liberty City he couldn't help but feel somewhat out of place. He was, though, Oleg reminded himself. Especially in the streets of Bohan. The largely African American or Hispanic section of the city was what passed for bad by American standards. Oleg felt right at home. Even the constant stares he drew didn't bother him and the one person foolish enough to open their mouths had been put in their place easily enough when they were left picking up their teeth off the pavement. Oleg wasn't a man to be trifled with on any day but especially that one. He was a man on a mission. The mission he had been given that day was to make sure a particularly troublesome dealer by the name of De'von Edwards never saw the light of day again.

Without hesitation Oleg strode confidently up to a young black man on his phone as he stepped out of one of many run down apartment complexes on Bohan's west side and raised his already drawn pistol. A single shot would have laid him out but Oleg let off several in rapid succession without pausing to see his target go down; as soon as the now bloodied and barely conscious or even alive man hit the ground Oleg stepped forward to make sure the job was done. Several more shots to the head made sure the man stayed down in the growing pool of his own blood. Ignoring the panicked screams of those around him Oleg turned and retraced his steps back to his car which wasn't far. He had much more work ahead of him before the day was done and over with.

* * *

Axel "Ironsides" Bailey had always been a rebel at heart. A man with only one mission in life - to do whatever he wished. That was what he did on a daily basis. On that particular day however he found himself with another goal in addition to his usual motive for getting out of bed, working through a rough meth come down and severe hang over from his heavy drinking. He was a member of The Vandals Motorcycle Club and as much as any Vandal loved partying, fighting, fucking and generally doing whatever they pleased - or society displeased, to get a few cheap laughs - they weren't always out for themselves. They were a brotherhood. The men in the club were brothers and as close as they came. They rode together, partied together, fought together and in the end died together.

It was because of that closeness, that brotherhood that Axel was busy roaring down the bridge white lining and ignoring the annoyed looks from those he passed. It wasn't advised nor safe at all to ride the line between lanes but that never stopped Axel especially when he was in a hurry. If he went end over end all he hoped for was death instead of life in unable to ride with his brothers. At that very moment he was busy with more important business than usual. He had someone to find, someone to catch, someone that was standing in their way.

The Vandals had chapters all over and Axel belonged to the Broker crew at least in a sense. He hailed from Carcer City and had joined there, became a pathced member there, but had gone nomad. Now he was essentially a hired gun within the club without the hired part. He was at everyone's beck and call, if a chapter president demanded his presence he was required to oblige. The Broker crew had called on him. He answered. They were having problems smoothing out a relationship with some of their friends and he had been assisting them.

"C'mere asshole." Axel murmured to himself as he gained on the car he was after.

Drawing close enough to the car to begin his assault Axel pulled up alongside it and didn't pass as he had with so many before it. Drawing a pistol with one hand while he was still in the driver's blind spot and started shooting. The pistol barked and kicked loudly and forcefully spitting out lead and fire as rapidly as Axel pulled the trigger; the initial few rounds slammed into the driver's side rear window and the driver's side window itself shattering them instantly and flew through the car implanting themselves all over, two going right through the back of the driver's seat hitting him.

The car swerved wildly but the driver remained in control, speeding up as he groaned in agony, attempting to get away from his assailant without looking back. Without realizing simply swerving to his left would have caused the biker to wreck thus allowing him to escape. Axel started shooting again and this time three rounds all went into the back of the driver's head. Letting off another couple shots all of them missed as the driver swerved in his death, went to the right and hit the railing hard, scraping against it before he hit a post that barely stuck out and stopped.

Axel rolled up slowing down as he went and emptied his pistol as he passed without pausing to reload. Virtually all of those bullets had found their target who was already dead, his brains splattered all over the dashboard.

"Mother fucker." Axel spat, carefully navigating the heavy traffic as drivers reacted in all sorts of unpredictable ways.

The hazards of pulling such a stung on a motorcycle not fazing him in the least. The fact that he was high as kite having a decent amount of meth in his system didn't make it any easier for anything to bother the already fearless outlaw biker as he headed into Broker.

* * *

Feng Zhou had always been an intensely loyal even fanatical follower. He had been brought up in the old ways of the Triad and respected it as the one and only true way. Blood, honor, brotherhood and above all else secrecy. They were not like the decadent westerners or even the Russians. They had maintained their ways including their intense secrecy. It was something to be proud of and Feng was indeed proud. His pride didn't get in the way, however, as he had also been taught better than that. Instead Feng sought out even those he disapproved of and used them, and then those he did approve of and forged real partnerships with them; people such as The Vandals Motorcycle Club and the Yuschenko bratva. The slight but powerful Asian man wasn't quite sure what to make of the former who had their own ways, rituals and secretive rules and traditions but he knew for a fact that the bratva was truly an entity to both fear and respect. Powerful, loyal, obedient, rule abiding. The Yuschenko bratva, he had come to find out, were one of many groups that adhered to the thieves' code, they were so called thieves in law, tracing their lineage far back.

It was these two groups that no matter what Feng thought of them he would be working with closely. They both wielded great power within Liberty City and Alderney and both had proven to be valuable, reliable business partners. That was why Feng found himself north of Triad territory. The other two groups in the triumvirate had been keeping their end of the bargain, their end of the deal, and so Feng had been dispatched to so on behalf of the Towering Mountain Oak.

Feng now found himself in northern Algonquin. North Holland Hustlers, Spanish Lords, MOB turf among others. Surprisingly they had all managed to do rather well despite all that had been going on in recent times. Even the arrest of Elizabeta Torres and the death of Playboy X couldn't bring any of them down, the former in particular being surprising. Feng knew of Elizabeta and the fact that she was a powerful cocaine baron. A paranoid, violent cocaine baron as many of them ended up; in this case she was one of the ones that ended up dependent upon her own product and it drove her over the edge. That wasn't of any concern to the Triad at that moment however. What was of concern to him was his target, a target he was driving toward at a steady pace. Pulling over deep in enemy territory Feng moved at a brisk pace but without worry. He was perfectly at ease as he took his pump action shotgun with pistol grip and shorted barrel out of the car and headed inside a small retail outlet.

It took all of three seconds to raise his weapon and for Feng to start shooting. The first shot struck his unaware target in the back of the head from such close distance literally splitting it open like an over ripe watermelon; not wasting time to watch the contents of the man's head spill out Feng worked the action of his weapon and pulled the trigger again. A blood soaked man in baggy clothing had barely ducked back and away from his dead friend and partner in crime allowing the cashier to take the buckshot in the chest.

The young man kept moving and ducked behind a rack of clothing as his other companion, this man a big, burly, filthy looking ragged white man in an Angels Of Death cut started to pull a pistol from his waistband. Advancing toward Feng with clear anger and intent to make his death as painful as possible the two gunmen opened up on each other. Feng's shot went low and to his left, barely missing the biker's ribs and shredding a bunch of over priced, flashy, gaudy shirts. The biker's own rapid shots all missed as well causing just as much damage, a couple even catching a fleeing bystander in her lower back.

Feng ducked and side stepped while preparing his shotgun once again before he was under fire from both targets. Stumbling over the wounded woman and falling over onto his back Feng raised his shotgun. The biker turned and took aim starting to fire the last few shots in his pistol before Feng put a load of buckshot into his chest. Rolling over onto his side without hesitation Feng chambered yet another shell and took aim. His third and last target peeked out from behind his useless cover - which served more as concealment than anything else - and took a load of hot buckshot to the face. Just to be sure of his kill Feng stood, headed over and split the man's head open like his partner's.

Everyone in the store dead save for the young black woman who had been hit on her way out, half out the doorway now leaving a trail of blood behind her, Feng walked passed and casually shot her in the back of her head. Just another day in the world of a gangster.


	2. Daily Grind

Barely a week had passed since the three simaltaneous attacks staged by the Vandals, Towering Mountain Oak, and the Yuschenko bratva. In barely a week much had happened but nothing more serious or any bigger than the attacks themselves. All three had lashed out viciously, brutally slaying their opponents. The purpose of the attack had been, of course, to keep everyone else off balance and week. The Spanish Lords, North Holland Hustlers, MOB, and Angels Of Death were still shaping up to be the biggest threats to their dominance. They had to be dealt with swiftly and severely. That was where men like Oleg, Axel and Feng came in. They were hitters. Soldiers. Killers. Gangsters through and through. Outlaws.

The plan had worked brilliantly thus far and had disturbed relations between the AOD and Hustlers who had been in the process of working out some sort of agreement or another. It hadn't been readily possible to frame one group or the other and so both had been attacked by Feng. The deaths of the others, however, were just as important. The Spanish Lords in Cerveza Heights had attempted to move product into Triad territory, either to sell it and steal the profits from their enemies or were to take it furher north to their allies. Whichever motive it was they had been stopped. Axel had seen to that. Finally Oleg had gone out and eliminated an MOB member who had been vital in their efforts to expand. Denying them the ability to go straight to the source of much of the product they sold the MOB were now forced to go about business as they always had.

The attacks had caused more than a few waves and already violence was starting to sky rocket as all the gangs began preparing for the coming war that was sure to occur. It was clear what had happened and nobody was unsure as to who had attacked who. They had already taken sides all that was left was to start fighting it out. Axel wasn't bothered by the prospect of ultra violence. The red haired devil on a bike had done his share of shit kicking, cracking skulls and busting faces, often enough in a drunken stupor with his brothers beside him though he would fight on his own just as readily.

Determined to prove to his enemies yet again that he was the baddest man they had ever come across Axel had taken the initiative and was now back in Bohan, on the west side, where plenty of shady activities went on. Whatever was going down that late afternoon didn't entirely concern him as he headed through the run down, burnt out and often abandoned neighborhoods. As tough as people pretended to be it still didn't compare to Carcer City- then or now and it likely never would. No one there even came close to seeming like much of a threat to Axel and so he dismounted his bike and headed toward one of the projects just behind a community center which sat largely unused after several incidents at the location.

Axel didn't know much about that or care. Instead what he was concerned with was getting to the men he had heard were tying up the flow of funds to the Bohan chapter of the Vandals. They hadn't asked him to step in and were poied to deal with the issue but Axel beat them to the punch figuring it would be a joy to feed someone his boot. Proceeding into the worn out, falling apart and in general filthy public housing project Axel left behind the cold Bohan night for the barely warmer insides of the ruined building. All around him the walls were heavily covered in graffiti of one kind or another and off to the side a young skinhead man had his date pressed up against the wall, her arms arnd legs wrapped around him. Her eyes widened slightly as she caught sight of the intimidating biker but only slightly. Axel caught her gaze and returned it with a slight nod, a smirk spreading across his face as he headed for the stairs.

"Young love." Axel snorted, heading up to the second and then third floor.

As far as Axel knew a small independent crew had fought to earn their own place in the highly contested projects of west Bohan but unfortunately for them the Vandals claimed all of the borough including their western turf. It was an insult to operate there without their permission. Worse yet, Axel recalled as he heaed up another set of ruined stairs to the third floor was their apparent attempts to expand. The group had been out peddling product and people alike, day and night, cutting into the Vandals' profits and that wouldn't do.

"Hey man, y'wanna turn?" A young looking African American man turned up his chin in Axel's direction, "Whatchu lookin' for?"

Axel closed in on the younger man without a word and instead snarled as his face contorted into an expression of pure unbridled rage and fury. Before he knew what was going on Axel was upon the man and had slammed his fist into the man's face slamming his head against the wall behind him. Before the sickeningly loud thud-crack could die out Axel struck again with a hard left hook catching the man in the cheek sending him to the floor. Collapsing in a heap barely able to think the youth tried to push himself up off the ground only to have a heavy booted foot collide with his ribs before it was brought down on the back of his neck just where it met his head.

In pain and likely in no shape to be fighting any time soon Axel took half a step back and prepared to kick the door open.

"Knock knock, punk mother fuckers!"

The door frame splintered and the door itself slammed into the graffiti and filth covered wall loudly as Axel stepped inside.

"Hey, what the fuck!" Another young looking Hispanic man appeared from one of the rooms, "Ey! get the fuck-"

The two men met each other halfway and Axel did to the man what he'd done to the first in the hallway; a stiff fist to the face sent him sprawling with a baseball bat clenched in his hand. Axel grinned mischeviously and brought his foot down hard, slamming his heel into the man's hand likely breaking bones. The popping of destroyed joints couldn't be heard over all of his screaming.

"And you, fuck face?" Axel challenged, staring down two men who had shown up from another room together, "What about you?"

Both men hesitated before charging forward and both barely landed a punch. One was met with the bat Axel had taken from his defeated foe and jammed into the next Hispanic gangster's stomach causing him to fall over in pain while the other started swinging. Bringing up the bat in both hands Axel kept his arms in front of his face and waited for an opening at which point he slammed the bottom of the bat into his attacker's face breaking his nose instantly.

"Thought so, fuck face." Axel spat, walking toward the nearest room bat still in hand.

Inside all he found was a terrified looking woman who seemed to be about middle aged perhaps even younger. The black woman, no matter her age, had clearly seen better days. She was also likely more than useless.

"You see anything?" Axel demanded in a gruff voice.

"N-no sir!" She answered in a fast, unsteady voice, shaking her head, "N-no sir! Ain't seen shit all day! Been home, been home ain't seen shit!"

"Damn right." Axel gave a curt nod and disappeared back into the hallway.

Another room held a much younger looking Latina who was less frightened and had the deadened look of one who'd seen far too much in their lives - and one who'd taken far to much heroin - in her eye. As far as Axel could tell she was sober and aware. He made he aware that she was now his property and barked orders at her before shoving her toward the door he had kicked in. Moving toward another room there wasn't anyone to be found but rather a large collection of valuables; money, guns, knives, bats, and more money all piled up like the group was ready to go to war. If they had been working out a deal to start working beside the Hustlers, MOB and Spanish Lords like it was thought then they definitely would have needed it. Regardless of their affiliation Axel dropped the bloodied bat and grabbed a couple handfuls of cash filling his pockets eagerly before he inspected one of the guns, a double barrel side by side shotgun with its barrels sawn short and the stock taken off. Perfect for what he was doing.

All this had taken literally seconds before Axel was back out in the hallway advancing quickly on the last door at the end of it where loud music was coming from and he could barely hear one or two people inside. Whatever they were doing it likely wasn't anything decent but he'd probably seen it and then some. Readying himself again Axel swung up his large booted foot and sent the door crashing open before stepping inside.

"Oi, oh woah shit!" A skinny young white man with no clothes on practically jumped off the mattress he was on top of - and the woman beneath him who was equally naked.

"Don't move!" Axel barked, looking around the room while keeping his shotgun on the man, "The fuck're you?"

"The fuck're _you_?"

"I asked first." Axel hefted his shotgun, "You one of them?"

"I look like some piss ant fuckin' pimp? I'm offended, right fucking offended I am."

"Shut the fuck up, get outta here."

"Gladly." The shaven haired man eyed Axel carefully as he moved toward his discarded articles of clothing.

"And you-" Axel turned his attention to the woman on her back.

"A-Ax... Iro... oh SHIT." Ashley gasped, her dark circled, sunken eyes going wide as she scrambled back and away from the now slowly approaching biker, "H-h-he-hey, I, uh you know-"

"Shut up." Axel sighed, shaking his head, "Get up, get dressed and get outside. We're outta here."

"Y-yeah, yeah, yeah of course - sure thing." Ashley nodded and scrambled for her clothes, "You know I been meanin' to come back 'round righ? Ain't like I left ya all or nothin'."

"Shut up already." Axel sighed heavily again, "And get dressed, damn it. We got money to steal."

"We?"

"Not you." Axel pointed his shotgun at the man lazily with one hand, "No, you take what you can carry and get outta here. You didn't see a thing."

"Course not."

Axel nodded and all three moved back out to the rom where the money had been kept. All of it made through the prostitution ring the crew had been running which had apparently been larger than suspected. They were lucky more of their workers hadn't been present or else Axel would have made them his own but that could wait for another time. Returning to the stash room Axel had Ashley load up on all that she could carry -though she surprised him by scrambling for a corner of the room first and opening up a small compartment in the floor and removing something familiar.

"The hell?" Axel stared at her in disbelief, "That a friggin' ounce man?"

"Y-yeah!" Ashley's eyes widened as she stared at the package of meth in her hands, almost shaking with excitement before Axel reached over and snatched it out of her hands.

"Give it here then. Let's roll."

"Ah, yeah I'm good too." The skinhead turned to them, pockets stuffed full of money as well, though he'd grabbed one of the guns lying around, "Better get lost huh?"

"Yeah." Axel stepped out into the hallway cautiously, decided it was safe and stepped over one of his victims, "I'm gonna give you guys a pass just this once. Let your punk ass home boys know what went down will ya?"

Axel smirked and lead the way out. He would have gladly beaten the men to death if he'd had the time and reason to but he needed the message to be clear. He had stepped in and resolved the problem. Bohan as any other borough was Vandals turf. If the chapters were a little slow to deal with a problem, perhaps tied up with the escalating violence they had started, he would be there to handle it. It was what Axel did. What he lived for.

"Tom? Man the hell's going on?"

Axel stopped and looked at the skinhead he'd seen earlier and his apparent girlfriend for a moment then looked at Tom, and back to his friends again.

"Ed," Tom nodded, "Alice. Weren't you supposed to be keeping watch?"

"Eh? Well, he didn't exactly look like trouble."

"Not that you could see me with your face buried in her shirt." Axel smirked, now just realizing how odd it was he was even bothering with conversation - and hadn't just beaten Tom as well.

"She did see me though." Axel vaguely gestured to Alice.

"Yeah well - either way, he came up there and beat ten tons of shit outta those guys for us."

"_For_ you?"

"Yeah man - we were doin' some recon, man." Tom explained, in no hurry to get moving, the police wouldn't show up for a long time if ever once a call was finally made and he lived nearby anyway, "Those assholes are in our turf, man."

"_Your _turf?"

Ashley stepped forward and cleared her throat, "You guys are some of them guys been runnin' 'round lately then?"

"Sure are." Ed grinned proudly, "We better get the hell outta here then, no use sticking around - call you?"

Axel paused for a moment before nodding and exchanging numbers. it was a weird meeting and introduction to be sure but he had seen arguably stranger things happened, often from a front row seat right in the middle of it all. Then again he might have been confusing weird with sick, demented, crazy, illogical and down right disturbing. He had seen people literally have their heads taken off for entertainment purposes after all. It didn't matter. Axel let the skinheads have his number and their fun, whatever was left in the room was theirs to take. The brothers would drop by again later and pay them a real visit, the small crew - only a portion of which had actually been present - would likely not learn their lesson. That wasn't the point. The point was to rob them and make it clear they weren't going to get away with what they'd done. Axel had done just that. Leaving the men lying in a hospital bed would drive the point home instead of putting them in the ground. They would get severely injured if they took on the Vandals, each and every last one of them.

"C'mon." Axel tossed the shotgun into a nearby bush as he stepped outside with Ashley and headed for his motorcycle.

Ashley obediently and silently followed closed behind her eyes darting all over the place as she lookd all around them. She hadn't been to sleep in three days and hadn't seen the light of day in even longer most likely. It wasn't day however and she would have to deal with the pain of seeing the sun again some other tme. For the time being Axel lead her to his bike and they both got on before he took off. Somehow as he started ripping through Bohan on his roaring Hexer, Axel couldn't help but be unsurprised by what had happened. Finding Ashley in a make shift brothel of all places for lack of a better way to put it. She had been well known as property of The Lost, as Johnny Klebitz' old lady and then Billy Grey's - or so the rumors went. It wasn't entirely clear what had gone on after then and even Ashley herself wasn't an entirely reliable narrator but she had ended up in rehab, got kicked out, and then ended up with the Vandals some time later. That had all taken place over a short four months. Axel assumed they were a fast, furious wild four months and didn't bother to ask about them.

The ride was only as quiet as Axel's Wayfarer would allow it to be with neither he nor Ashley saying much if anything to each other. There would be hell to pay most likely for what had happened. Ashley was Vandals' property now no matter how often she found herself wandering off getting into trouble. She was one of their working girls and nobody else's, it was just lucky Axel had found her by chance before Tom, Ed and their crew had decided to strike after personally scoping out the small time crew's operation. Despite all of her personal issues Ashley actually pulled in a decent amount of money as a working girl, something she seemed to have had plenty of practice at in every sense, she surely wasn't new to being passed around but had likely already been on the street more than once to ply her current trade so she could buy more meth. Whatever she did with herself Axel had never much cared but so long as she kept running off to make more trouble for herself - and in the end the Vandals as well - they would continue to drag her back and punish her if and when they inevitably ran into her again.

"Try and not wander off again this time, yeah? At least not too quickly." Axel advised as he pulled up in front of the Bohan chapter's clubhouse, letting Ashley off before he started to back his bike into place.

"Y-yeah, sure. Probably should be more careful huh?"

"Get some sleep." Axel dismounted his bike and waved her off, "Or don't. Whatever. Doesn't matter, just don't go causin' no problems anymore."

"Yeah." Ashley agreed quietly and turned to head inside.

Lighting a cigarette and ignoring Ashley's slim, filthy frame as it disappeared into the noisy clubhouse Axel lazily walked over to a brother who had been outside smoking, loitering and watching the entire thing.

"Sup brother man?"

"Ain't shit goin' down. Not now anyway. You know that place we were talkin' 'bout?"

"The one just down the road or some shit?"

"Yeah."

"Sure."

"Ain't gonna have to worry about it too much." Axel finished his cigarette rather quickly and flicked it out into the street, wathing as it bounced off a passing police car without being noticed.

"Took care of that shit."

"Yeah? Shit man, good goin'."

"Wasn't nothin'." Axel shrugged, nodding to his brother, "Gonna go inside, gotta talk to the brothers 'bout it."

"Count me in, I gotta hear this." The large biker grinned and eagerly followed his slimmer, more muscular red headed brother inside.

* * *

Oleg had been just as busy as any of his fellow Yuschenko henchmen over the last week busying himself with either a few more acts of violence against their main rivals before they could realize what was going on or wrapping up other loose ends. In particular there had been a few people floating around the periphery of Russian turf trying to start dealing. Apparently they had been testing the waters so Oleg helped them in their efforts and locked them in the trunk of a stolen car before putting it in the river. Apparently the water was so nice they never wanted to leave.

It had been obvious who had been ending the low level grunts as well. The MOB had been started in and was still largely operating out of Firefly Island. The Angels Of Death worked out of BOABO as well which wasn't too far away but they hadn't, as far as anyone could tell, been involved. They would be hit hard soon enough regardless. Oleg was on that day heading out to handle another problem entirely however. The encroaching dealers could be dealt with easily enough as well as those who sent them. Instead Oleg was headed up toward Outlook Park, relatively neutral turf, more specifically he was headed to the TW Cafe. Yet another random problem had come up that demanded a swift and furious reaction using ultra violent methods to deal with it. He didn't object to the idea though Oleg didn't care for it either, it was just how things were to him, violence was violence. Somebody was going to die that day and that was all there was to it. That was the price on paid when they crossed the Russian Mafia, the Yuschenko bratva, and Oleg Leonov.

As he drove north toward the internet cafe Oleg contemplated that. This woman had allegedly been rather outspoken about recent events in the city particularly those in the area in which she lived, Broker-Dukes. She wasn't pleased with the way things were going and was in fact displeased with it, claiming lack of police effort in order to maintain control of the situation and regularly attempting to draw attention to all sort of activities. A favorite target of hers were the Russian Mafia. More than once she had gone to actual reporters, newspapers and the like, demanding that they print stories about them. That was something that couldn't be allowed. Oleg couldn't help but chuckle slightly as he stopped at a red light. In Russia it was rumored that reporters and others questioning the government were regularly disappeared, the same went for the gangsters, but Oleg found the former far more amusing. His life long enemy and he had more similarities than he cared to admit. That didn't matter as Oleg hit the accelerator again and headed toward the internet cafe once more. One way or another the troublesome would be crime fighting journalist would die.

Still thinking about this and just how exactly he would go about the job, or rather how he would adapt it to better suit his needs, Oleg pulled over on the side of the street across from the cafe itself. There was always the option of just outright killing her which would work just fine. It wouldn't be the first time Oleg had walked up on someone and shot them in the face a few times nor would it be the last. That solved one problem. As he sat there staring at the cafe for a moment Oleg was already figuring out how to kill two birds with one stone.

Finally emerging from his car Oleg headed across the street walking somewhat briskly until he reached the door and pushed it open. Stepping inside without even looking at the elderly woman at the counter and ignoring her as she spoke Oleg quickly scanned the area around him, immediately spotting his prey toward the back. Without hesitation he headed back toward the woman he'd been ordered to kill and watched her. Lauren Longbaugh seemed to be all of five feet three inches, maybe one hundred thirty pounds, with a somewhat chubby figure but not overly so. Long dark brown hair pulled into a neat ponytail wearing a semi-casual suit. In another life she might have made it somewhere before her young life had come to an abrupt end. Thinking better of shooting the young woman dead in the middle of a crowded itnernet cafe and either having to kill everyone else there or otherwise risk their identifying him - and knowing as incompetent and corrupt as the LCPD was Oleg still knew they were more likely to arrest and convict him than the police in Russia - he decided against simply staining the computer screen she stared intently at with her blood and brains. Instead Oleg calmly moved to take a seat nearby and waited, watching his prey. He had all day. The moment she made a move he would be right there behind her to deliver the killing blow at a more opportune moment.

* * *

Feng had escaped the fast and furious gun fight a week ago completely unscathed and without witnesses. All anyone would know for the time being that there were two Hustlers and an AOD biker dead in north Algonquin. It would have been preferable, he and his superiors knew, to have made it out to be one side betraying the other thus souring their negotiations for quite some time if not forever but things hadn't worked out that way. Feng had carried out the hit regardless of the circumstances and the outcome and sat back watching the aftermath unfold.

Even now as Feng sat in his small apartment in Chinatown watching the news they were covering the small massacre far to the north. There were as of yet no leads to who had performed the hit or what had motivated it - though, the reporter went on to say, it troubled them to find two former rivals in the same location both apparently shot by the same assailant. That meant they had somehow reached some sort of uneasy peace if nothing else. Police speculated that it had been a hit directed at disturbing whatever potential peace there may have been, or was otherwise some sort of horrible robbery gone wrong with armed occupants returning fire. Occupants that happened to be gang members.

Snorting as he turned off the TV and stood Feng moved to his refrigerator and grabbed a can of Pisswasser. Horrible, cheap mass produced beer that it was it was better than nothing and he couldn't recall how exactly he had ended up with it in the first place. That happened on occasin. Overworked and often working on little or no sleep Feng found himself losing time more and more often it seemed. That didn't matter. Feng sat down at his table now with a pistol and began disassembing and cleaning it between sips of cold beer, occassionally stopping and running a hand over his close shaven black hair and stopping for a moment to think and drink some more. All that concerned him for the time being as always was what his role in everything going on and that would be going on would be. Thus far Feng had successfully carried out a couple more less high profile hits that had gone off without a hitch, at least without much of one, but all Feng could see coming of this was more violence and war. Of course, it wasn't his place to analyze all this and decide what to do but rather to take it all in and then use that knowledge and information to better perform whatever task was handed down to him. That didn't stop him from thinking. Thinking was the one thing Feng did well other than shooting.

* * *

Axel had headed inside the Bohan chapter clubhouse and made a quick call to the crew in Alderney who would be happy to know their merchandise had been found finding her way into trouble all over west Bohan. Not mentioning that she'd also been the source of the methamphetamine he was carrying Axel had tossed it on a table when he consulted the brothers and displayed his find proudly along with all the cash he'd rode off with. He'd left the men there battered and bloody but alive which meant they would pay them another visit some time soon, this time much more violently, and with much more of a reward. One man could only carry so much.

For the time being however Axel found himself basking in the glory of a job well done, satisfied with the blood on his fist from one victim or another that he casually wiped off and headed out after the meeting to see what was going on with his brothers. The Bohan chapter like others was based in a large, brick and mortar structure that from the outside looked rather unremarkable. It was barely even labeled as property of The Vandals Motorcycle Club and looked a bit run down but surprisingly less so than the hang outs other gangs in Bohan claimed - unlike them the Vandals cherished their clubhouse and took care of it, if only a little. That didn't stop there from being all sorts of health code violations, sloppy drunken antics at the bar and a all over and all sorts of fog and smoke amd memorabilia hanging all around and everything else associateed with a proper outlaw motorcycle gang's clubhouse. It was exactly what one would have expected and the somewhat small framed, muscular, rusty haired biker wouldn't have had it any other way.

"Brothers!" Axel stepped into a large, spacious room which served as one of many hang outs, hosting a pool table, another smaller bar and a few somewhat empty tables at the moment.

"Shit, Ax, been a while."

"Tell me about it, Mace." Axel pulled up a seat at the bar and demanded a drink from the prospect manning it as he slammed his fist on the bar jokingly, shaking his head, "Been keepin' busy with all this shit goin' on all over."

"Yeah? Heard you found Ashley man." The chubby, shaggy haired, bearded biker questioned before downing the rest of his own drinking and taking a deep drag from his cigarette.

"Yeah man." Axel nodded to his companion and then to the prospect, raising his glass slightly, "Here's to hoping she ain't caught nothin' 'cause I plan on tearing that shit up."

A round of laughter ensued at the bar as loud and obnoxious as ever. The Vandals like any other outlaws weren't too familiar with the idea of being subtle or keeping to themselves.

"Yeah? Good luck with that man. Tossin' a hot dog down a God damn hallway by now."

"Not if you tap that sweet, sweet ass." Another brother further down the bar laughed, "Shti man, I'd nut all over that."

"Bit skinny." Mace shrugged and snuffed out his cigarette on the bar before tossing it in a nearby ash try he was too lazy to reach for in the first place, "Probably break her in half, but shit, I'd probably do it too."

"You haven't?" Another questioned with a grin, "Thought everyone had been in that mess."

"I'm sure it looks like it." Axel laughed and downed the remaining half of his drink in one quick go and demanded another, "S'good bein' back though. Missed my Bohan brothers. Business been keepin' me away."

"S'all good man." Mace nodded somewhat sympathetically, "We know how it is - ain't easy bein' nomad. Bein' everybody's bitch."

"Fuck you."

Mace shrugged, knowing their exchange wasn't serious, "Welcome back at any rate."

"Good being back." Axel nodded and started in on his second drink.

They continued on in this way for quite some time with a number of drinks being had and more than a few joints being passed around as well, and a couple of lines of speed joined the mix eventually, the usual cocktail of debauchery in the world of the Vandals. Axel was just glad to be able to visit the Bohan chapter again and do them a solid, since returning to Liberty City recently he'd been rather busy which wasn't surprising. Every chapter in Liberty and Alderney were up in arms ready to fight it out with several other gangs, mostly the North Holland Hustlers - once again under Dwayne Forge's ccontrol - Spanish Lords and MOB. They had made the mistake of crossing them and their allies in Liberty so Axel had been called in as a nomad to help sort out the situation; as much as he enjoyed the open road between destinations and the beatings he often found himself handing out upon reaching any given location Axel was still human, still enjoyed the company of those relatively few that meant anything to him. It was back to business soon enough however as he and Mace were approached by the President of the Bohan chapter - Frank "Dresden Tank" Stimmelhaus.

Frank was somewhat tall, standing taller than either of the men he aimed to speak to, and was literally built like a tank. He didn't look like much but underneath his cut and all the clothing and patchs piled on top of him Frank was a strong, capable man. Years of smoking, drinking and being beaten senseless in bar fights hadn't taken their toll. Instead Frank seemed to walk away from all his years of rough living even more enthusiastic and energetic than ever even as his light brown hair started showing gray with age.

"Talked to the brothers about that thing." Frank lowered himself onto a stool on the other side of Axel, "They definitely appreciate what you did for us. Did us a solid as always."

"Any time." Axel nodded and handed over the nearly finished joint he'd just hit, still holding in his lungful of intoxicating smoke, "Any time."

Frank nodded and paused to take a hit as well, speaking only once he'd exhaled, "We're gonna hit 'em again. Someone's gonna go drop Ashley off back at the Alderney clubhouse, bitch can't stay outta trouble ever it seems - then we're rollin' on these fuckers."

"Music to my ears." Axel grinned mischeviously, to him it wasn't as if they were about to assault and likely kill several people, it was pure amusement without a care in the world, "How things been anyway, Ashley's shit aside?"

"Alright." Frank pressed the tiny remains of the joint into the bar putting it out and placed it into an overflowing ashtray, "Been handlin' this upcomin' stuff, you know, with those guys. Been all tied up."

Frank shrugged and paused for a moment, "Shouldn't have waited on you to take those guys out though. If there's as much cash as you said, they're bigger than we thought."

"Probably packed up and left." Axel snorted, "Least I got 'em while we still could."

"They'll be around somewhere." Frank shrugged, "We'll track the little piss ants down and stomp their heads in."

"Man, I could go for that." Mace grinned.

Frank nodded and sighed, "We'll just see how this all plays out in the end, though, rest of the chapters say we're ready to go to war. I believe 'em. I sure as hell am."

"You know where I stand on the issue or any other." Axel shrugged and started in on another drink, he'd lost count of which it was and didn't much care, "These guys can't handle us. Can't handle me."

"Yeah yeah, straight up Carcer City, we've heard it all before." Mace chuckled as he stood up slowly, a bit thrown off by the substances in his system, "We'll show you how we do it in Bohan, son, you seem to have forgotten."

"Let's roll." Axel stood without hesitation, looking to Frank, "Coming?"

"Migh as well." Frank stood and finished his own drink before nodding at his two companions, "Where'd you have in mind?"

"That meth man, whole friggin' brick - we can move that thing already. Whole thing, no problem." Mace explained confidently, "Remember those Dominican guys causin' trouble for everyone up in Northwood?"

"Yeah? Those guys? Christ, I didn't even know they made it passed running coke and sticking up other hood lovin' wannabes."

"Yeah, well turns out other than their little business with the blow they're trying to work out some deals. You know how it is, they haven't exactly made many if any friends. Lemme call 'em up."

"Go for it." Frank shrugged, "So long as we can make some money, I don't care. Let 'em keep causing problems for our dear friends out in Algonquin then."

"Proxy wars. I can dig it." Axel smirked, chuckling as he looked at Frank.

"Think about it, we rip these fuckers off for 'em, sell it right to the poor, small bastards and they break it down on the block and keep going. Keep causing trouble. Ain't nothing to it brother."

"Yeah, alright - it makes sense. Wasn't saying it didn't or nothin'." Axel shrugged, lighting a cigarette as they waited on Mace who was on his phone practically shouting to be heard over the loud punk being blared throughout the room.

Inhaling deeply an oddly fulfilling sensation ran through Axel. It was the lesser of his vices but it was enjoyable none the less, even through the fog of mild intoxication. While he stood smoking and speaking with Frank, Axel was reminded of the phone numbers he'd been given before. They were already stored safely on his phone where they could be retrieved at a moments notice and he couldn't help but wonder if they would come in handy after all. If what Frank said was true, if they did properly roll on the crew he had hit already then it wouldn't hurt to have some back up even if they weren't brothers. That would have to wait however as Mace hung up and put his phone away.

"Alright, they're sendin' someone up to Grummer road in Algonquin, we'll do it there."

"Bring any brothers?" Axel looked to Frank who nodded.

"I'll grab a couple boys, case these guys get outta line too. Don't exactly have a great reputation to go on."

Axel and Mace both nodded and disappeared first so Mace could pick up a weapon or two taking both a pistol that was quickly tucked away and an Ingram Model 10, just in case things got a bit hairy. The small sub machine gun was essentially an American made Uzi, created by the legendary Gordon Ingram who had designed it as a cheaper alternative to its Israeli counterpart. Limited interest and the collapse of Military Armament Corporation, the group producing and selling the original Model 10, saw to it that its full potential was never reached. Mace was armed with one of many copies, some of which had given the design a bad name, but his was of a more reliable nature. So long as it went bang every time he pulled the trigger though he really didn't care what it was. Axel on the other hand mounted his Wayfarer with just a pistol tucked away, not expecting to have to fight an entire war that day.

"Alright boys, let's hit it." Frank stepped outside a moment later with two more men and they all mounted their bikes quickly.

Totaling five the small group took off for northern Algonquin. Enemy territory. The area was a mix of new and old, powerful and weak, upcoming and spiraling downward but many of them were hostile all the same. Northern Algonquin was prime realestate especially in the world of drugs and prostitution where both went on frequently and almost without stop even during the day, when it was somewhat safe to venture into the gang controlled area. The cause of all the problems, however, was that the Vandals were seen as outsiders and were and they made no attempts to make friends. The residents were instantly hostile and the outlaws didn't care. They forged what alliances they could with who they could and would fight everyone else; these particular men they were handing the meth over to weren't allies though, they were customers pure and simple, and had been once or twice before though never buying in incredibly large amounts. That didn't matter. If they wanted to keep on fighting everyone and losing Axel didn't care so long as they walked away with the money they were asking for their precious stolen product.

"You think this'll actually work?" Axel asked after a moment, looking at Mace riding beside him, just behind Frank who lead the charge, their other two companions staying close behind them.

"Waddya mean?" Mace looked back at Axel, still paying attention to the road, eyeing his old friend and brother he hadn't seen in a while, he still looked the same; rusty color short thin hair balding ever so slightly at the top of the back of his head, heavier stubble than usual but otherwise the same.

"This thing with the Dominicans, man. I don't trust those spics as far as I can throw 'em."

"Me either man." Mace replied quickly, turning his attention to the road to swerve between car momentarily before moving back into the lane they had been riding in, "Dealt with 'em a coupla times though - they're kinda desperate."

"Desperate enough to try anything?"

"Dunno, you know how it is, people do stupid stuff. Sometimes they don't."

"Shit man, thanks. You're a real help. This ain't my town you know."

"Fuck off back to Carcer then, ya pussy!" Mace grinned, "Can't handle a couple messy skins what good are ya?"

"Gladly, I'll just take my meth, my money and my bitch back." Axel countered with a smirk of his own, referring to Ashley, "And I'll ride on off into the God damn sunset."

"S'cold man, just leave a brother like that? No emotion, no nothin'? Cold."

Axel just flipped him off and looked straight ahead again. They were fast approaching Algonquin as they crossed the bridge linking the two boroughs. From one ghetto to another though it could still be argued Bohan was much worse. Both were small, run down and suffering from all sorts of problems but Axel hardly noticed that.

* * *

Oleg slowly stood up from his seat just as his target reached the door and confidently strode passed everyone else still in the TW cafe not paying much attention to them. They were irrelevant, insignificant, and likely wouldn't remember anything about him let alone the details of his face when Lauren was reported missing and then her body found soon after. It would be as if nothing had ever happend and she just suddenly turned up dead save for the bullets that would be firmly planted in her skull.

For the time being however Oleg just focused on following her without attracting any unnecessary and unwanted attention. It wasn't very likely to happen, of course, but Oleg would rather not spend any more time in prison than he had to. He'd had enough of that to last a life time. That was for fools as far as he was concerned, he was as loyal and dedicated as they came but throwing one's life away needlessly just to sit in a cage with all the prestige they couldn't enjoy was something he expected of the lowly street gangs they were at war with. He was above that. It didn't matter Oleg reminded himself and tightened his grip on the steering wheel as he slowly pulled out into traffic and kept a close eye on Lauren.

"Where are you going, _little rat_?" Oleg murmured to himself switching seemlessly between English and Russian, "_Do not run_, you are mine already. Best not to die tired."

Carefully following Lauren around a turn as she started to further south likely toward her home Oleg watched carefully. He hadn't been able to catch her there before and had been forced to find her at the internet cafe but now if that was indeed where she was going it would be the last place Lauren went. There would be no mistakes. There couldn't be. If this woman was trying to get more attention drawn to the recent activities of the various factions within the Russian Mafia then she had to be done away with but Oleg was still considering an alternative plan, one that would happen to let her live just a bit longer, though it would be in fear and terror. Then her life would end along with Oleg's troubles.

"Ah, not home then." Oleg couldn't help but smile to himself slightly, shaking his head as he watched the woman pull over, "Oh well."

Oleg slowed down and pulled over watching carefully. Lauren had taken him back well within Russian territory. He still wasn't going to hit her. Not then and there in the small diner on Mohawk Avenue. It was safe enough to walk right in and shoot her in the face on their own turf but he wouldn't do that. If at all possible Oleg wanted to wait and do it somewhere else, then it occurred to him that this was the perfect opportunity to set up his plan. Better to attempt it in an area dominated by the Yuschenko bratva than one where he would be less able to intimidate people into keeping quiet should he need to.

Getting out of his car slowly Oleg shut the door and headed over to the diner and stepped inside. Immediately and instinctively he scanned the entirety of the small establishment. Nothing out of place. There was a couple off to one end near the side entrance, at the same end of the counter was a lone businessman and the usual woman behind the counter, at the other end of the diner in the last booth was Lauren. Walking over withot paying any attention to everyone else Oleg slid into place across from Lauren before she could even look up at him.

"Do not speak. Be quiet." Oleg commanded calmly, evenly, not intending to make her overly nervous yet clearly display his dominance.

It was a careful balance between showing his willingness to use force thus getting Lauren to cooperate and do as Oleg told her while not scaring Lauren into thinking she would be killed - at least not outright.

"Do not speak." Oleg calmly placed his hands on top of the table clearly displaying the tattoos on the back of his hands, a clear sign of his allegiance to his life as a thief in law, "You will not be harmed. I know who you are. I know what you do. You will not do this any longer. Come, we must talk in a more private setting."

Lauren simply stared at the man sitting before her. She had seen his kind before. It was impossible not to living in Broker in recent times, Russian, Albanian, and other such gangs were rather common. They were spreading quickly like a virus, not even a cancer, that was far too slow a disease to be compared to their invasive nature. They were human kudzu patches. They could be cleared away but they would always come back just as bad as ever.

"Okay." Lauren managed to speak rather calmly and nod, though Oleg saw the clear fear in her eyes, saw right through her and even heard the nervousness in her voice

"Good." Oleg nodded, motioning for her to stand as he did, "Let's go. We have much to discuss."

Lauren simply nodded back and Oleg followed her out the front entrance before he suggested they take her car which was parked on the side of the road just a few feet away from the diner. Getting in without a word Oleg closed the door and instructed Lauren to head for her home. They would speak there. In reality there would be little speaking being done and only in the sense that Oleg would be giving her further commands with a gun to her head in order to assure Lauren's compliance. He had plans for her. Plans that would end their reporter troubles before they even began.

* * *

Feng had found himself being called away from home yet again and couldn't say he minded. Lately he'd been on edge. Unable to deal with sitting aroun for very long without feeling horrible but that never distracted him. Never interfered with his work or interrupted anything he was doing; Feng knew all too well the price paid for failure and treachery both of which were higher than perhaps anything else one could be punished for.

It seemd this time Feng was being asked - or rather told - to deal with someone for just that exact purpose. It had been revealed that another soldier such as himself had been having dealings their superiors didn't approve of, namely cooperating with Korean gangsters in neighboring Alderny which was stricly forbidden in light of a long running rivalry. The Koreans were in direct competition with the various Triad factions in nearly every business possible including the lucrative heroin trade that the Chinese had come to dominate in Liberty if not Alderney as well. That was an offense most definitely punishable by a well deserved death. Cooperation with the enemy for any reason was punishable by death and this one would be particularly gruesome, the lowly soldier had betrayed his brothers all just for more money, and barely any at that.

Unable to help but smile to himself as he headed outside and started walking Feng thought of just how satisfying it would be to carve the man up like a side of beef. Of course, Feng reminded imself, that was insulting to cows everywhere but he could think of no better comparison. There had even been occassions when bodies were disposed in such ways as to make the comparison even more suitable but Feng didn't think about that. There would be no disposal and instead the traitor would be left lying in a pool of his own blood wherever he was found. It didn't much matter when or where or how he died it would all lead to a horrific and likely drawn out death that would remain shrowded in secrecy just as everything else in Chinatown was. It was far too small and close knit a community to risk saying anything and there was a traditional gap between the government and the people making things work out in Feng's favor even more.

* * *

The five man group of Vandals that had left Bohan slowed down and came to a stop just off Grummer road. They were meeting an equally small - hopefuly smaller to discourage any sort of attempt to rip them off - group of Dominicans. Henrique and Armado had set up shop and started doing their own thing not that long ago but they hadn't made many friends in the process, even alienating a few as they ran around sticking up whoever they could for whatever they could. It wasn't like them, or many other crews in the ghettos of north Algonquin, to buy, manufacture or sell methamphetamine but no one bothered questioning it. At least not out loud. Mentally everyone knew it was just a bit strange but if they already found someone to offload the ounce to then they weren't about to complain, they would make off with the money and let the Dominicans catch all the heat for their actions. Possibly even for sending someone to jump the men it had been stolen from, even though they clearly hadn't.

"Alright that's them." Mace dismounted his bike and nodded to the nearby group just ahead of them as they approached, "S'goin' on man?"

"Ey, you know how it is man same shit different day - perpetratin' mother fuckers all 'round. Soon as we hit the block with this shit, though, we'll fuckin' show 'em who's next to hit it big man."

"It's some good shit." Mace agreed with another short nod, Frank standing beside him and observing the three men they were dealing with carefully.

While this was going on Axel stood there looking as intimidating as ever, reaching up and scratching at the stubble starting to thicken all over his face while holding onto the meth he had stolen earlier and keeping it out of sight. They wouldn't be seeing even the tiniest of crystals until they had green firmly in their hands.

"Alright, looks like we're good." Frank looked at Axel and nodded after he and Mace had received the agreed upon amount of money.

Stepping forward and producing the neatly wrapped brick of meth from seemingly nowhere Axel held it out to hand over to the leader of the trio of the ever struggling Dominicans, his delusions of taking over likely fueled by his own consumption of such substances. The man had barely met him halfway and taken hold of the package before things went south in an instant.

"Ey! Ey! Mother _fuckers_ this is Uptown turf, beat it!" A man in a jet black jacket with a large UR emblazoned on the back appeared, baggy jeans and Hinterland boots completing the look, pistol in hand.

Several more men showed up with him and suddenly everyone started moving without thinking. Acting without even having to say a word though strings of obsceneties were suddenly being thrown around just as lead was.

Practicallly shoving the Dominican man to the ground Axel dove forward behind the Cavalcade the buyers had arrived in and drew his pistol and came up in a high crouch and started shooting over the hood. There was no hesitation only an oddly calm, precise action. It hadn't been his first gun fight. Ducking every time one of many bullets struck too close for comfort Axel suddenly found himself down behind the Cavalcade entirely with glass raining down on him while all he could hear was the sound of uneven, erratic and completely mismatched gunfire- a lot of which was coming from Mace and his Ingram.

Mace was steadily backing up toward Axel while the brothers and their impromptu Dominican allies assisted them no longer concerned with the meth though Frank kept a tight grip on the bag full of money all throughout the raging fire fight. Mace had barely reached Axel before he ducked down to reload, something his fiery haired and tempered brother was doing as well.

"You good man?"

"Fuckin' wonderful, let's waste these niggers n' get the hell outta here."

"You got it." Mace nodded, popping up out of cover with Axel.

The two started shooting immediately and in the hail of bullets another Uptown Rider went down though they had no idea how many that made. There were still a few left shooting and in all the confusion of shooting and being shot at they didn't have time to keep track of scores. Moving around front of the shot up Cavalcade the Vandals and Dominicans began establishing dominance in the fight and Mace continued firing short bursts with his sub machine gun; despite that he still emptied with weapon rather quickly as it had an insane fire rate for any weapon of any sort, much higher than that of most of its kind, one of its few real flaws.

Cursing loudly as he dropped to a knee and swapped out magazines Mace cocked the weapon and scanned the area ahead of him again. The parking lot just off Grummer road was all shot up and everyone was moving around, using whatever vehicles they could for cover and concealment and right in the middle of it all were the Vandals' bikes and the Dominicans' Cavalcade.

"Come out and fight ya pussies!" Frank called, standing up and firing wildlly over the roof of a car, "This is your turf huh? FUCK YOU!"

Frank succeeded in upsetting his opponents but hit nothing other than the vehicles they were creeping around behind and grew frustarted as he ducked down to reloaded again with his two brothers nearby. Mace and Axel weren't too far off either and they too wished to end the fight as quickly as possible. That was exactly what they aimed to do. Calmly peeking out of cover and taking aim Axel let off several more shots in rapid succession and put them right through a shattered windshield through a back window into an Uptown Riders' face. The man dropped instantly in a way only dead men did, crumpling and falling as if a puppet had its strings cut instantly, without pause. He was as dead as dead could be.

Standing upright now Axel advanced around out of cover and Mace followed him, dropping to a knee and joining in. Ducking and flinching only slightly each time a shot was fired in return and never sitting still Axel kept firing calmly and relatively precisely. By the time he and everyone else had stopped a couple more rival bikers - though they wouldn't ever consider them real bikers at all - lay on the ground injured and the rest of the small group took off firing behind them wildly.

"C'mon, time to make sure they learn their lesson." Frank waved everyone over and proceeded cautiously but calmly, without fear.

What the old, worn out biker found waiting for him on the other side were several men all dressed similarly bleeding all over themselves and each other with a couple of corpses nearby. Kicking their guns away from them the bikers stood over the men watching for a moment with apathy a normal, decent, properly functioning human being couldn't have managed or even imagined.

"Guess you aren't so fast off them sleek rice burners, huh?" One of the bikers spat, kicking a man in his side, right in his injured ribs, "Can't dodge a bullet."

"Can't even fight." Axel agreed without looking up, taking aim, "Time to put you filthy mutts down for the count."

Several shots rang out almost in unison and by the end of the short barrage each wounded biker was dead with no less than two bullets in each of their heads. The Dominicans by that time had already grabbed their meth and taken off leaving the Vandals to hop on their bikes and flee the scene as well. The last thing they needed was to go down on a murder charge in the middle of a war that hadn't really started yet. They couldn't afford such a loss even as powerful as they were, especially of such a capable chapter president and other dedicated brothers. Of course all of them knew that the same was true of the Uptown Riders; the now relativey small group of bikers had taken a serious blow with the arrest of Elizabeta and then the loss of the Alderney chapter of The Lost. Now they were weak and rather relient on peace treaties and truces with others in their area, as well as venturing into Bohan as they had before.

Frank knew all this and more of course and as the wind whipped his semi-shaggy grey-brown hair back and he sped along the bridge back to Bohan he contemplated it all. They had always been rivals of the Lost, UR and Angels Of Death, that was just how things had turned out. The real problem with that was it left him fighting with several different factions that were now all either at peace with each other or forming alliances. The AOD chapters had come together and put their racist ideology aside inorder to work on a peace agreement with all those of northern Algonquin, including the Uptown Riders, and all of them had their sights on Bohan. Frank's turf. The AOD had a chapter there, the Spanish Lords operated all over there and were probably the greatest threat to him along with the AOD, and everyone else went there for business; whether that was picking up shipments, striking deals, turning out working girls or anything else. It wasn't something Frank could stop entirely just yet but he was doing what he could and playing a careful game of gangster chess.

"Brothers." Frank called out over the combined roar of their bikes without looking back as they crossed the bridge into Bohan and continued on their way back to the clubhouse, "Waddya make of all of this?"

"All of what?" Axel was quick to reply, looking up ahead at their leader just ahead of him, staring at his well worn, filthy three piece patch, "That? Went down bad, it happens."

"Not that- I mean, that too, but not directly." Frank paused to formulate his thoughs into a proper sentence while turning off onto another road and slipping between lanes of traffc again, "I mean we - our chapter, our entire club - got a lot of shit to deal with now."

"So what?" Axel snorted just as quickly as before, clearly confident and fearless as ever, "We'll take 'em and then some. Chew 'em up, spit 'em out."

"You're a real brilliant tactician, Iron, I can see why they loved you back in Carcer." Frank smirked, looking back over his shoulder at Axel.

"Fuck you." Axel flipped him off, "I ain't gotta think 'cause ain't nothing to think about. Someone crosses a line they shouldn't of? Ya beat 'em senseless, stick 'em a few times - do it again, ya shoot 'em and keep shooting until they stay down and dead."

Frank shook his head and swerved to avoid a particularly slow moving taxi, making sure to hold his raised middle finger nice and high without looking back so the driver could see. It didn't mater. He would likely be wide eyed with fear at the sight of the Vandal warrior that made up the patch on his back. The outlaws were as fierce as their ancient namesake an were just as well known. Forgetting the driver who'd irritated him in seconds Frank started to consider what Axel had said knowing in a way it was true. A politician and strategist he might not have been but Axel was no idiot, he was no man's fool and he wouldn't be had by anyone. Coming up in Carcer City he'd learned to be sharp, quick to negotiate and educate with violence and learned how to properly apply it in either of those situations and many more. If he thought they could take on what was coming their way it was most likely true. Frank just didn't want to take any losses they didn't have to - he'd buried more brothers than he cared to, lost in a war or not.

Deciding to worry about all those things and more later Frank focused on the pile of money he was carrying and how good it felt to be in possession of it, to be out in the field again so to speak, laying into his rivals with his brothers. It was an exhilarating experience the likes of which one could rarely if ever experience elsewhere. Neither he nor any other Vandal would trade it for the world.

* * *

Darnell had arrived as soon as he had been called off to the projects from where he'd been hanging with some of his crew further east, though not out of their territory, or what they claimed as theirs. The small unnamed crew had been expanding as of late under protection of their recently forged alliance with the crews even further west in Algonquin who had long been coming to Bohan for various reasons most importantly of which was to pick up any given substance they needed. Darnell had been smart, had seen to it that he'd filled at least part of the vacuum left behind by Elizabeta, had stepped in and started spreading his own powder and rock. He'd expanded his stable of women. Recruited more soldiers so to speak. He'd done everything right, hustled endlessly and without rest, put his time in. To say he was upset or angered or deeply moved by what he'd been told and then saw for himself with his own two eyes would have been a great understatement.

Darnell's crew had operated in the very same projects that Elizabeta had lived in and had in the end decided to turn a few otherwise vacant units into places of business, mostly prostitution, though it was never uncommon for transactions of other sorts to go down in the projects anywhere in Bohan. That was how life was. Darnell had capitalized on it with good effect. The set up had given him a steady, easily defensible income from all the other small, splintered groups in the area. Eventually he'd proven himself enough to ally with the Spanish Lords in the area who put in a good word for him with everyone else. That had been it. He had his foot in the door. Now one of his crews had been hit and lost more than a few dollars both in paper and product, as well as the apparent loss of two of their women. It wasn't anything that would crush them and yet it was an insult, a horrible one that also damage morale.

The only comforting thought, Darnell realized, other than that during the day the apartment they had hit was generally relatively empty and slow was that they knew who had done it. No one knew who the apparently lone assailant was but they did catch the patch he'd been wearing. Those who hadn't been knocked right out at any rate. That meant they knew who to hit in retaliation for the attack and they would be doing so immediately. No calls, no talks, no support. They had to handle this on their own and in the process they would prove their worth yet again.

"Come on you fools, let's fuckin' roll already." Darnell snapped, rusted out poorly maintained AK in hand, "G'damn."

Heading back outside they all piled into their vehicles and took off while Darnell angrily made a phone call or two to inform everyone else to be prepared for anything and to be on the look out for any Vandals. There was now a shoot on sight order. They had tried avoiding becoming involved in the sporadic fighting going on between the bikers and their allies too much instead doing what they could to take advantage of the mess they created and build their own power. Now it was time to flex that muscle.

"Punk ass white boys." Darnell scoffed, rifle in his lap, waiting impatiently to reach their destination or otherwise find a target with a patch on their back.


	3. Complications

Feng had carefully plotted out his moves in advance carefully as if playing a game of chess or even checkers. Or even a video games, perhaps one of the more realistic real time strategy games that he somewhat secretly did play in his rare spare time. They excersised his brain and were quite enjoyable regardless of what anyone else thought. Feng didn't care. It was his one guilty pleasure for lack of a better word. None of that mattered of course as he strode confidently down the streets of Chinatown and approached another cramped apartment buidling sandwiched between a small restaurant of Chinese origin and a were under Triad protection of some sort or another.

Pushing open the front door Feng stepped inside and made his way from the cramped, hectic streets of Chinatown into one of its oddly clean, well maintained apartment buildings. Perhaps, he mused on his way up the stairwell, the man he was there to kill had moved in with the money made from dealing with their rivals. Perhaps he ha thought it clever, thought himself clever, to cheat his own brothers like he had. It would cost him more than his life. It would cost him all of the money he had made, all of his possessions, and all of the pleasure he had derived from such base, shallow and corrupt earthly influences; in order to rob him of this last thing Feng knew he had to inflict a great and terrible pain and instill such terror in the traitor's last moments that everything he had done seemed as if it hadn't been worth it. And it wouldn't be. Not with what Feng planned to do. He had fileted more than a few people in his time both living and dead.

"_Brother, I have come to speak to you_." Feng informed the traitorous scum as he knocked on the apartment door, "_Please come, I must speak to you_."

There was muffled call from inside the apartment and the sound of someone approaching the door. Then silence. Hesitation. The man approached the door once more and this time opened it quickly.

"_I was not expecting a visitor_."

"_Nor did I expect to be visiting but alas these are strange and troubling times_."

With that final statement the man was about to let Feng in but as he opened the door Feng thrust his food out and connected with a solid kick to the center of mass. HIs opponent went down without a fight but recovered quickly as he used the momentum to roll over and come up in a crouch, launching himself at the equally unarmed Feng from his low position. Wrapping their arms around each other and going to the ground both men started to struggle for their lives which were very well at stake. Whoever won the wrestling match would have the upper hand and would begin striking possible death blows, raining them down upon their victim without mercy, without pause until they were dead.

Rolling over on top of his target Feng started to do just that as he slipped an arm free and brought it down, striking with the lower end of his forearm, the front of his elbow, smacking his opponent in the face. It was a powerful, damaging blow though it was only good up close, it did its job well. A few well placed strikes would knock a man out. That wasn't Feng's intention or at least he didn't intend to stop there and he didn't as he landed another mighty blow and prepared for yet another.

* * *

Oleg had followed Lauren into her small apartment in Hove Beach. It wasn't surprising that she lived there and yet somehow it was. Most would have either ran off if they had a problem with what was going on and forgotten all about the run down neighborhood or would have been too fearful to say anything, to speak up, but this woman had done just that. She had tried to anyway.

Oleg immediately locked the door behind them produced a pistol and stuck it in Lauren's bewildered face before starting to speak, ordering her to her computer, to contact whoever it was she had been speaking with. Whatever she had been telling them she was to retract it all and start blaming someone else. Draw attention to anyone else. After a moment of thought with his gun to Lauren's head Oleg decided to make it the MOB. They were growing rather steadily despite their clashes with the Russians and their Albanian muscle and were responsible for a healthy amount of crime in Broker, Dukes and Bohan with alliances to groups elsewhere in the city. Lauren complied immediately though she questioned just how smart it wast to give Oleg what he wanted or to refuse. Over the passed few months she had been pouring over everything, from the Libertonian shootout as soon as it happened to other major events and everything since then, she knew better than to test his patience and yet knew she may very well end up dead or worse regardless of her cooperation. She knew what happened to those who crossed the Russian Mafia even in other countries. Knew that she would likely end up in the river. Lauren complied regardless and began typing furiously.

"Good. When you are finished we will be done and I trust you will not make this mistake again." Oleg watched closely, his gun never wavering.

It was a lie of course. Oleg knew it would never happen again. She would be dead. There was no other choice even if he'd wanted to avoid killing Lauren.

* * *

Axel, Mace, Frank and the two other brothers who had joined them in their quickly set up and quickly ruined meth deal had headed back to the Bohan clubhouse intent on stashing the money they had just made - quite a tidy sum - and getting back to their partying. Axel himself wasn't quite as far gone as he wanted to be, as he needed to be, it was like nothing to him anymore. There was no rest. No waiting. No tolerance breaks. Only more. They'd dished out enough beatings for that day and had taught some valuable lessons and even with a war on the way that wasn't any reason to change their schedules. A good fight never got in the day of a good party and vice versa in fact they often went hand in hand and occurred at the same exact time.

Of course that also didn't stop Axel from considering what Frank had said. What he had tried to say at any rate. It wasn't really his place to make descisions like that however and he preferred not to. If Axel had anyting to say about something he would with the same brutal directness and frankness any of the Vandals would. He didn't have anything to say other than what he had and so kept silent when they'd headed back into the clubhouse as always greeted by their brothers eagerly and enthusiastically. Greetings were exchanged, bottles of hard liquor were passed around and seats were taken. It was time for more heavy drinking and pounding their livers like an artillery barrage, a comparison many of them including Frank could relate to, being in the military for quite some time. It was part of the reason why he kept so calm under fire both metaphorically and literally and was actually capable of wielding a weapon with some semblance of competence, why he was able to walk away form so much unscathed, though he'd earned a whole new set of scars as Vandal as well. It was also part of the reason why he couldn't ever stop thinking not without the assistance of any sort crazy cocktail within him and that was the goal now. Later, tomorrow Frank would worry about his leadership duties for now he would bask in the glory of another small victory with his brothers.

"Man, it really is good having you back." Mace nodded in Axel's direction, "We got a few new 'spects in, all ready to lean into."

"Screw that." Axel laughed, "Need me some good hole and more of this."

He raised the half empty bottle he had to himself, took a drag on his cigarette an smirked, "And I'm set. But you know me. Can't pass up a chance to put 'em through their paces."

"Poor fuckers." Mace grinned and brought a joint to his lips, shaking his head, "Still remember gettin' patched in. Brutal."

"Gotta be. Ain't got a God damn spine, ain't got no love for that patch, your brothers - then they ain't really your brothers." Axel stated with absolute confidence, knowing it was an absolute truth and was to be treated as such, "They tried to tear that shit away from me, I about ripped their throats out, fought for that thing. Spilled blood - mostly mine. Bathed in it."

"Old days." Mace raised his bottle of beer.

"Old days." Axel agreed and brought his bottle of whiskey up to meet it, taking a long pull afterward, "And hard drink."

"Easy killer," Frank laughed, "Them Scottish genes aren't worth shit if you go too hard. Even you can't handle it."

"Put it on my headstone." Axel waved him off rather drunkenly, finally starting to sink into an alcohol induced stupor that calmed the relatively intense man who was as fiery as they came, "Then throw that thing away and gimme somethin' good."

"Will do brother, will do." Frank confirmed wih a nod, "Don't plan on dying anytime soon though, we'll need a crazy ass man like you around. Gotta use someone as a bullet magnet."

"Pussies." Axel grumbled, "Buncha spineless pussies."

"Christ, Iron, what'd we ever do without you?" Frank laughed.

"Turn this place into a squat ass little girl's club."

"Whatever you say, friend-brother. Whatever you say."

"Carcer assholes." Mace muttered none too seriously, "Ain't you got a job to get back to- OH WAIT."

Axel flipped his companion off as he polished off the bottle of whiskey and the debauchery continued. Just because it was mid-day didn't mean a thing to them it might as well have been ngiht perhaps even morning. When others were out starting to line up to get into clubs that the Vandals would never be caught dead in among all the other shallow, vapid masses the brothers were already in full swing; they likely had been for days straight if it was a serious enough party, fueled by meth and the usual inner urge to destroy both themselves and those around them.

As the near endless debauchery and self indulgence continued with everyone getting less and less aware of their surroundings and more and more out there conversations turned into clouded drunken, high affairs of various subjects, from bikes to women to guns to whatever else was coming up to catching up on everything that had been going on. Axel had been gone a long time after all and there was much to be shared. When one was on the road as much as Axel it was hard to keep up even with the closest of friends and brothers and taking advantage of every opportunity was vital, though it was anyway, living the lifestyle they did they could easily not be in touch for periods of time or otherwise see each other one day and find out the other was dead and gone the next. That was just the way things were but until that day came none of them had any intention of abandoning their brothers.

"Hey! Cici, c'mere!" Axel grinned and motioned the skantily clad woman over only now realizing her presence in the room, eagerly wrapping an arm around her waist and pulling her into her lap, "You old mangy cunt, you ain't even come see me!"

"Been busy, Iron, they keep a girl wokin' 'round here." Cici teased, smiling down at the burly biker whose lap she now sat in, throwing an arm around his neck, "How could I ever make it up?"

"Been on the road as long as this bum? Shit," Mace snorted, finishing his can of beer, "Only one way."

"Oh? Yeah?" Cici turned her attention from him back to Axel, "Poor Ax, always gets the shit end of the deal."

"Fuckin' A." Axel grinned and shifted in his seat staring up at Cici, or he would have been if he wasn't looking her over rather eagerly, his intent clear enough.

Everyone present just laughed and shook their heads while going back to their small party in one of the side rooms, people coming and going, the drinks, drugs and sex flowing. It wouldn't have been a proper Vandals party - or clubhouse - without the women of course. They weren't, contrary to popular belief, in quite the position most seemed to believe and definitely not what the authorities wanted people to believe; all came and went freely, save perhaps for some of the street whores who may or may not have been taken by force but only from other pimps, everyone was in the situation they found themselves in by choice. The women knew the lifestyle, the people, and if not they were getting in over their heads as surely as anyone who picked a fight with a brother. The women were as fast, wild, reckless and free as the men - mostly. Men were more important, were the only ones allowed into the club, and had the last say. Otherwise anyone who said any different didn't know anything and had never seen either in action.

"S'too bad, I really had some _important_ things to do..." Cici trailed off, slowly looking away as if in thought then back at Axel, "Such a shame."

"Aw, you cunt, ain't changed a bit." Axel laughed.

"And you still smell like stale old piss, old man." Cicci punched him in the arm playfully, "And it's still sexy as hell, in that weird kinky way."

"Ah Christ, now you're just teasing me." Axel laughed, tightening his grip on her and standing, "Screw that."

Cici laughed and wrapped her legs around him as he carried her off and they disappeared into another room to various cheers and taunts before the room settled back down into its previous level of obnoxiousness, music still blaring, people stilll shouting over it. Just the way things should be. How they'd always been and would be.

* * *

Darnell and his small group that had been assembled in a hurry and included two of the men who had been jumped before all by one pissed off biker that apparently got the drop on them hadn't arrived at their destination just yet. At the last moment their leader had decided to prowl the streets. He would return the favor, no doubt, but he would do it how he wanted. He wouldn't just shoot up a place or two of theirs. He would find them out on the street unaware and roll right up and put holes in them all then perhaps he would find more or maybe then he would go shoot up their filthy clubhouse. Teach them a lesson.

It was so far all for not and Darnell was getting a bit impatient but was determined to make it work. They wouldn't be able to stand up to an all out assault from all the people surely gathered at the clubhouse as much as it upset him, even with a larger group they would have the numbers but he wasn't calling in any favors or getting his whole crew to roll on one target. If it took some time to pick a few of the filthy, mangy patch wearing rivals of his then he would wait. It would be all the more satisfying after he finally got to let loose and dump a few dozen rounds into them, never even having to leave the comfort of the PMP 600 his subordinate was driving, in fact it would be even easier with the AKMS he wielded. The underfolding stock made it all too easy to wield from within the confines of a vehicle, unload on some and then drive off all in comfort.

"Ey man, ey I think I see a few of 'em now." The driver pointed out a group just ahead of them, several men on their bikes and even a few women with them, "Shit nigga, that's them!"

"Get 'em!" Darnell demanded, tightly gripping his AK with one hand while he grabbed his phoen to call the men in the car tailing them, "This is them, don't let none the motha fuckas walk way."

Hardly hearing the reply Darnell snapped his phone shut and got ready. It wasn't his first time out, he'd plugged more than a few people with his weapon of choice, knew how to play with it so to speak. He certainly wasn't afraid to either.

"Ey nigga, fuck that raggedy ass scurvy ass patch, come get some!" Darnell leaned half out the window rifle in hand as they approached and opened up on the group.

Turning to look over his shoulder with a scowl on his face Ray "Filet" was ready to get off his bike then and there and drag Darnell to the side of the road and curb stomp him;he wouldn't get a chance to fulfill his violent wish as the familiar sound of gunfire suddenly and loudly filled the air echoing down the crowded city streets.

"Fuckin' fuck!" Ray swung around and pushed the woman riding with him to the ground, right off his bike and ended up taking a dive when he'd simaltaneously gone for his pistol, falling over hard on the road.

Darnell watched Ray drop with a sick sense of satisfaction as they rollled right by as fast as possible and he never stopped shooting. Never hesitated watching the surprised looks on everyone's faces, watched a splash of blood color one of their shirts for sure as he rolled right up beside them and pulled the trigger.

The group of Vandals reacted immediately and as the two flashy vehicles - far too flashy to be owned by anyone but gangsters in an area like Bohan - and started slinging lead right back. The entire exchange was seconds of near endless gunfire, pistols and rifles and a single shotgun roaring, snapping, cracking and generally filling the area with the erratic bursts of noise that signaled a gun fight in progress. Even as he picked himself up off the ground Ray startd shooting again taking a few steps toward the fleeing cars. Completely unaware of what exactly had just happened and still too worked up and ready to kill to even begin thinking he simply emptied his pistol and watched the cars turn a corner.

"Mother fuckers," He turned angrily back to his brothers, finding them all oddly unharmed save for one with blood pouring out all over his arm.

"Son of a cock lovin' mother fuckin' whore bitch." The Vandal groaned, gritting his teeth and putting pressure on his wound, his hand soon covered with blood pouring from his other arm, "Little shit bag tagged me. Didn't think those monkeys could even aim."

"They got lucky." Ray spoke without any real emotion, adrenaline still clouding his mind, eyes darting all around still making sure everything was okay as he pulled his companion up off the ground and got back on his bike.

"Ladies," He nodded to the dismounting women, "You can find your way."

Barely receiving a reply before taking off Ray sped off down the road in the direction the cars had gone, all of this happening within seconds, even the injured brother tagging along with them still. With a war brewing they hardly if ever went anywhere without some sort of firearm and whoever it was trying to kill them would soon learn both that and why it was a horrible idea to try and do so.

"You alright man?" One of the other Vandals questioned, turning sharply around the corner and sticking close to his comrades, "Bleedin' all over the place!"

"I'm good!" Was the simple reply he received, despite the blood pouring from his wound all over his arm and dripping all over him the Vandal wasn't lying.

The intense pain and burning sensation from being shot clean through the arm was already setting in but adrenaline and anger numbed it to an extent. Enough to allow him to function. He'd be able to hold out until they saw a back alley doctor or otherwise got patched up by a brother with a steady hand and some sutures at the ready.

"C'mon, mother fucker!" Ray gripped his pistol tightly and took aim right ahead of him, letting off a couple shots, "Where ya goin'?"

The small band of blood thirsty Vandals let out a war cry as if to voice their agreement, a war cry that would have struck fear into the hardest of men.

* * *

Feng and his target had been wrestling and fighting for quite some time now and it hadn't spilled out of the apartment more than once and then Feng had alreadydrawn the cleaver he had been carrying. Despite its large blade the knife was still readily hidden if done right and now he and his opponent circled around the living room table, a tiny wooden table that now lay in splinters, shattered when both had fallen on top of it some time ago.

The man marked for death breathed deeply his chest heaving, shirt torn to shreds in the ensuing chaos, several cuts of varying depth all over. It was just a matter of time until Feng managed to overpower him now and they both knew it whether or not the walking dead man wished to believe or admit it.

With a loud battle cry the bloodied man charged forth, caught an overhand swing with the cleaver and pulled Feng in, threw his hip into Feng's stomach and flipped the knife wielding Triad flat on the floor with a pained grunt. Before the man could stomp down on Feng's face he'd rolled over and came up, throwing a low sweeping kick that didn't connect but forced his opponent back and Feng remained in a crouched position ready to lash out and strike. His opponent similarly remained coiled and ready to fight, his legs bent, hunched over, on the balls of his feet almost always in motion.

Both lunged at each other at the same exact moment and Feng's feigned attack on one side drew attention off the cleaver suddenly firmly planted in his opponent's neck. Keeping a tight grip on the weapon Feng pulled it out as the man fell over and started dying in a rather slow and drawn out manner which most wouldn't have known possible. Unless one knew what they were doing and actually did it properly someone could still take a while to die in such a manner. That was what Feng had come for however and he simply lit a cigarette and took a seat, looking up at the still open doorway before looking casually back down at his victim, calmly watching the growing pool of blood and listening to the horrific sounds of a slow, painful death. The details of it would stick with him forever. It had been after all his brother he had killed.

* * *

Oleg had been as careful as possible with Lauren and had taken her out with him back to her car after she had finished all he needed her for which was sending a false report to everyone she had been talking to. She had been desperately trying to draw attention to Russian fueled crime and instead Oleg had ever so carefully persuaded her to tell them to focus on the MOB. They were the real problem, the real cause of all the violence, drugs, theft, prostitution and whatever other social ills one could think of. So long as it wasn't the Yuschenko bratva or anyone else connected to them Oleg didn't care.

With that task now complete he kept his gun in plain sight but refrained from keeping it to Lauren's head as he had just moments earlier as they got into her car and took off.

"Over here. No, no, over here." Oleg corrected and gestured to a road for Lauren to turn onto, "There. Good. All is well, yes?"

"Y-yeah." Lauren nodded and looked at him out of the corner of her eye nervously, "Just fine."

"Good." Oleg nodded back and settled into his seat, gesturing to an alley, "Here. Drop me off here."

Suddenly feeling sick to her stomach and apprehensive Lauren nodded slightly and did as she was told.

"Good bye, Ms. Longbaugh. I trust this will never happen again." Oleg walked around back of the car and before Lauren realized what was happening came up around the driver's side and started shooting right through the window.

Opening up from point blank range without hesitation Oleg let off several shots as fast as he could but Lauren had already thrown her car into reverse and hit the gas speeding backward out of the alley putting all of his rounds through the window into the steering wheel, dashboard and hood of her car. Lauren barely managed to hit the brakes before slamming into a parked car shifted into drive and spun the wheel wildly before hitting the gas again and taking off down the street with Oleg chasing after her, pistol raised and ready to fire.

"_Shit_!" Oleg slipped back into Russia and let off two rapid shots before taking off as fast as he coul down the street, letting off one more shot as he went, "Get back here!"

It was no use and as he ran as fast as he could manage down the street Lauren put more and more distance between them and wherever she was headed Oleg didn't know nor would he be able to reach it in time. She was likely going to the police but if not he had still failed, something that wasn't acceptable. He had to correct that mistake before anything more came of the situation.

"Yo! Ey!"

Oleg suddenly stopped and found himself confront with an entirely new problem as several yellow clad men rushed out of a nearby Cluckin' Bell and out across the street in his direction.

"Come 'ere you Russian pussy! Get 'im!" He commanded his partners and stopped in the middle of the street to take aim and start shooting.

"Where the hell'd they go?" Ray demanded looking around as he slowed down, "God damn it... FIND THEM."

"They're gone man." The wounded Vandal winced slightly, looking at his wound and realizing his entire arm was covered in blood now, shaking his head, "We'll get 'em brother - tear their heads right off."

"No. Too fast. Bitches disrespected the patch. They die slow." Ray said with absolute certainty in their assailants' slow demise, "Screw it... let's get back to the clubhouse, get you patched up."

"Sounds good." The biker winced again ever so slightly, gritting his teeth as he hit the throttle and took off, the vibrations of his bike and even the slightest bumps in the road doing his pained arm no favors.

He hardly paid attention to his own injury however and just like everyone else was far to angered to even care about it at the moment. It was nothing a few stiff drinks and some home surgery couldn't fix. He like Ray was upset about the insults flung at them. Insults that weren't taken lightly at all, ever, under any circumstances. The patches were the club. Whoever it was, and they had a decent idea, would pay with their lives.

"Larry, brother, you're bleedin' all over your bike!" One of the men present commented after a moment, "Gonna be a bitch to clean."

"Least it's not their filthy blood." Larry snarled, glancing down at his crimson stained gas tank, blood dripping from his arm.

How he was even able to use his limb anymore he didn't know. It was somewhat surprising having just been shot at close range with an intermediate rifle round of healthy caliber but Larry figured he was lucky and didn't dwell on it. It hadn't ben the first time he'd been shot and wouldn't be the last.

"Let's just get back. Before I start poppin' random mother fuckers 'til I get the right ones."

"You and me both brother." Ray muttered.

* * *

Tom, Ed and Alice had all gone back to north Algonquin to the projects where another one of their skinhead comrades resided - Jack - and discussed the situation with him explaining their rather odd reconnaissance method and its success despite Axel's unexpected appearance. They had found out that the room they had planned to storm was just as prosperous as they had thought, if not as busy as others at least at the time. It was well worth the risk they decided, money, drugs, guns - and women. It would all certainly pay off for any energy expended and yet it was taking quite a risk.

On the other hand they all knew there was great risk involved in the attack especially after the gang had already been hit by the Vandals who they were now unofficially allied with. If all went well the somewhat small band of skinheads would be able to bring about some sort of partnership with the Vandals. The bikers were much like they were and were involved in many of the things they were, though they held more territory and arguably more power.

"Well, we can't call in a favor just yet." Jack shrugged and grabbed a beer from his fridge, "Whatever happens we gotta do this ourselves."

"Yeah?" Tom hopped onto the counter with his own beer and cracked it open, "How ya figure?"

"I figure 'cause we just met these guys. Fuck if I'm gonna trust them or expect them to respect us if we can't do this on our own. It's up to us, we hit them and we hit them hard. Real hard."

"Go in swingin' I like it." Tom grinned and nodded, taking a big gulp from his beer, "Let's do it."

"Christ, I guess you guys are right." Alice sighed and closed her eyes for a moment as she shook her head, "No real choice."

Ed nodded, "Yeah, well, then I guess it's decided."

"Guess so." Jack nodded back and moved over to retrieve something for a moment.

Setting down his beer Jack produced a couple of baseball bats and set them down off to the side.

"Let's show 'em what we're made of."

"Oh hell yeah." Ed grinned, taking one of the bats and holding it up as if he was geting ready to take a swing on a ball, "Oh yeah... this is gonna be good."

"You know it." Jack nodded and placed a pistol next to the bats, "We help our new friends take care of these assholes, they'll come storming across that bridge and help us out."

"Don't they have chapters all over?" Alice pointed out as she looked up at Jack from where she sat, "Either way, sounds like we're good to go."

Jack nodded yet again looking back at her, "Oh yeah. Definitely. This is gonna be good."

Forgetting about what they had just been discussing for the most part the group of friends and comrades and they went about the rest of the time together like normal though the weapons sat out in the open right in front of them. It would likely take a bit more than just that of course but they weren't so poorly armed, it was just their style of choice of weapons, light and fast - up close and personal. If they could fight with melee weapons or with no weapons at all the skinheads would easily crush whoever they faced off against no matter their numbers or advantage.


End file.
